


Touching You

by casbean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bottom Dean, Ex Priest!Castiel, M/M, Masseur!Dean, POV Dean Winchester, Top Castiel, Top!Cas, bottom!Dean, virgin!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 09:34:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7430249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casbean/pseuds/casbean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is a very professional masseur. Ask anyone, he's the best. Porn stars, celebrities, Dean has no problem keeping his mind entirely clear and focused. That is, until the cutest guy in the history of the world pops onto his table, and everything goes to Hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touching You

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to @221bbitch for beta-ing for me!! Thank you so much!

 “Fuck.”

 The swear slips out before Dean can stop it, stifled in his throat but still perfectly audible. Generally it’s not how he likes to greet a new massage client, but he couldn’t help it – the guy he has just opened his door to is just so _freaking_  gorgeous. Like, kick-you-in-the-crotch, spit-on-your-neck, bloody-infinite-ocean-eyes and  _holy-pink-lips_ gorgeous, and just the shape of his jaw would be enough to send Dean’s blood to all the wrong places.

 He's drop-dead beautiful and not even Dean's type, which is the worse part.  _Shit_.

 The stranger seems taken aback by Dean's cursing. He squints, dips his dark eyebrows and looks around, looking so much like a bear cub that Dean wants to just… wrap him in his arms. Very tight. In the short sixty second he’s been here, the dude has gone from _fuck-me-up-hot-stuff_ to _you’re-so-adorable-I-want-to-punch-you_ , and Dean feels all of his being soften into a cotton ball as he stares at that small curl sprouting on top of his brown hair, and the smaller one behind his ears.

 “Did I get the appointment wrong?”

 Damn, and he’s got that low and slow voice _to die for_ , warm and deep and that would make anyone’s panties drop to the ground. Dean tries to pick himself up.

 “No! No, sorry, I just, uh – forgot your name, that's all.”

 Good save, Dean. Now the guy will just think you’re an idiot.

 “It’s Castiel.”

 The man smiles, relieved, and Dean blinks several time to chase away the impression of staring at his own wet dream. Castiel is wearing a clean white shirt under a ruffled trench coat, his hair has obviously been brushed in a vain attempt to tame it, and there are at least three buttons down on his chest. His smooth, tanned chest… that Dean can’t stop staring at.

 “Oh, yeah, sorry – I’m Dean,” he manages to babble before stepping aside and letting Castiel in.

 The guy takes a quick look around the small office, glancing at the massage table, the desk full of bottles, the candles, and the single chair.

 “Should I get… naked, now?” Castiel asks, and Dean can feel his ears turn red as blood rushes to his face.

 “Uh, yeah, I’ll go get the oils and you can, y'know, undress and get on the-" Dean clears his throat. "– the table. There’s a sheet to cover your, uh... privates. Your private parts.”

 God save him, he almost blurted _to cover your probably gorgeous penis_ because really it’s all he can think about.

 Castiel doesn’t seem to notice Dean’s embarrassment and smiles before taking off his coat. As he’s stepping out of the room, Dean notices the muscles of Castiel’s arms under his shirt – and hot _damn_.

 Dean doesn’t know what is freaking him out the most; the guy or his own reaction to him. He’s never been this flustered in his whole career, and it’s all because of a guy who, let’s face it, seems to be kind of a dork. Childish, even, but in a very grown-up, two-days-old-scruff-and-throat-you-wanna-bite-on kind of way. Dean quickly glances through the blinds and sees Castiel undress slowly, frowning again as he looks around for a place to put his clothes.

 Soon Dean’s new client is wearing nothing but white parachute boxers and socks, and his hair is all dishevelled from pulling his shirt over his head. Dean watches him hesitantly put his things on the chair, and then change his mind and lay them on the table, before looking around and bringing them to the chair again.

 There’s something so _odd_ about him, about the way he moves, the way he looks, the way he talks – something isn’t completely right, like he’s a bit off from the world around him. And Dean can’t explain why but it only makes him all the more attractive, and he doesn’t know if he wants to fuck his brains out or just wrap him in a blanket, bring him home, and feed him cookies.

 Dean forces himself to look somewhere else as Castiel takes off the last layers of his clothes. He thanks all the mighty lords that the guy has his face turned away and his eyes closed when he walks back into the room.  _Why_ is that body so tanned, like a field of muscles that look so soft and firm at the same time? And the shape of that butt under the sheet – oh _lord_ the butt – Dean curses under his breath as he lays his eyes on it. The lights are turned down now, the room only lit by the perfumed candles, and it defines every curve of Castiel's body like a freaking Greek sculpture. 

 And then Dean’s just supposed to what, _massage_ him? Put his oiled hands on that warm skin and _rub_ the dude? A dude who - because God hates Dean and wants to punish him - smells of marshmallow and vanilla and so much more Dean can’t even register.

 But Dean has a job to do so he tries. He really does. He lays his palms on Castiel’s shoulders and attempts not to shiver. He closes his eyes and imagines he’s touching the ugliest freaking person he can think of, an old rotting corpse covered in peach cake - he _hates_ peach cake. The trick almost works, but this has to be one of the worst massages Dean’s ever given. It’s kind of hard focusing on technique when every nerve in his body is fighting against that incredible sensation of silky skin, knots of muscles and vanilla marshmallow scent.

 Dean’s massaged pretty people before – Hell, he’s massaged freaking porn stars – but this is just a whole new level of attraction. That guy is doing things to Dean he hasn’t felt in years, if he’s ever felt them. 

 And that’s when Castiel starts making sounds.

 It first happens when Dean rubs his thumbs on a particularly tight knot at the base of his neck. It’s a sound between a moan and a whine, of the kind of pleasure people usually keep in the bedroom, but this guy seems to have forgotten about that. This time Dean _literally_  can’t keep it in his pants. Thank God Castiel is facing the other way and his eyes are still closed, because the table is barely high enough to hide the obvious bump now pushing against Dean's scrubs. The masseur feels sweat pearling on his forehead, his face overheated, and cheeks burning red. 

 And the dude _just keeps moaning_. Yes, a lot of clients make noise, sometimes very sexual, but this - this low, smooth, rich rumble climbing a few octaves just to come punch right into Dean’s guts - it’s purely maddening. Dean’s mind is filled with images of golden honey warming up under the sun in a field of wildflowers. And somehow it’s still sexual... Yep. That’s what this guy does to his freaking mind.

 Castiel’s dishevelled hair tickles Dean’s stomach as he leans further over him, sliding his hands down the oily back before bringing them up again. Shivers run under Castiel’s skin when Dean massages the loosening knots of his upper shoulders and then presses circles at the base of his neck. Castiel is firmly groaning now, squirming under the expert hands, and Dean feels dizzy, all of his strength focused on not losing control, on not just jumping on that table, straddling the dude, and putting his lips and teeth where his hands are right now. It is not an easy task.

 “You smell... very nice," Castiel lets out, his voice stifled by the way his head is laid. "Like pie, but more spicy.” 

 Dean freezes, mind in alert for any sign of flirtation. But his client’s eyes are still closed and his face is the same, squished (freaking goddamn chubby baby cheeks how _dare_ he), relaxed, and content. His comment was obviously completely innocent; like commenting on a nice flower on the side of the road. He must be the only person in the world able to say something like that and be so mundane about it.

 Dean loses track of time as he travels down Castiel’s body, avoiding the sheet covered parts and working on the muscled arms, thighs and legs.

 “You’re very good at this,” Cas mentions a while later.

 Dean decided to give him that nickname in his mind, because he has the irrational fear that if he even dares to think the whole _Castiel_ , the dude’s gonna somehow connect to his thoughts and find out how much he freaking wants him in all the wrong ways.

 "Thanks."

 “Would you mind working on my posterior? It’s very sore.”

 “What the hell have you been doing?” Dean chuckles before even thinking about it.

 A new wave of heat hits his face, and he’s pretty sure he must look like a ripe tomato on the verge of bursting.

 “A sixteen hours sit-in for Greenpeace,” Castiel replies as Dean moves around the table, careful to not step in front of his client's face. “It was for the preservation of killer whales.”

 Dean takes a deep breath as he stands in front of the infamous butt, taking a second to mentally prepare himself before he lifts the drape.

 “That’s… nice,” he lets out, eyes fixed on the perfectly smooth and round butt cheeks laying in front of him.

 _Oh dear fuck_. Castiel doesn’t seem to know Dean’s not exactly talking about the sit-in – or maybe he does – but he just smiles, relaxing even more.

 Gathering all the professionalism he has left, Dean grabs that perfect ass with his two hands and starts massaging it. _Jesus-holy-Christ-full-of-grace-and-all-the-chubby-cherubs-of-Heaven._ Castiel’s butt is everything Dean dreamed of; plump, soft and yet firm at the same time, everything an ass should be, and Dean should definitely not be thinking in terms of asses right now, but he is. Never before has he gone to a sexual place while touching a client, but now Castiel’s moaning and grunting with his ass in Dean’s hands and Dean’s about to lose his goddamn mind.

 He slides his fingers over the smalls of Castiel’s back - cutest butt dimples in the history, of course - down to the start of his buttcrack, which _of course_ is marked by one perfect little mole. _Lord_ Dean just wants to kiss it, so, so badly. His palms fully grip on the round curves, feeling up the firm muscles, rubbing the tension out, pressing circles into the flesh until he feels Castiel melt under his touch. It’s sinful, it’s filthy, it’s so incredibly sexual yet Dean has done this so many times. He’s massaged a hundred butts, young and old and bubble and flat, and never, _ever_ did he even come close to coming in his pants. But right now, a brush of his scrubs and he would be spilling all over his own shoes.

 Once he’s finally done, Dean turns around, pretexting that he needs to get some more oil. Truth is, he just needs one tiny moment with his hands on something that doesn't make him want to rip off all of his clothes. He leans over the desk, taking a few deep breathes before grabbing the closest thing he sees.

 But his hands are so slippery that the little bottle slips between his fingers and drops right to the ground. Dean quickly dives after it, managing to catch it before it pours out completely, but on his way to stand up his shoulder hits the table with a loud bang _._

 "Fucking  _Hell_! _"_

 Pain shoots through Dean’s body as he falls to his knees, trying to grab the bottles rolling everywhere around. When he finally gets up, hands trembling and muscles aching, Dean sees that Castiel is standing on his elbows and turned toward him, looking genuinely worried.

 “Dean, are you alright?”

 The masseur hasn't even had time to process how amazing his own name sounds in the deep voice, that the blue eyes have travelled down to his crotch, widening in surprise. Castiel’s lips part and he tilts his head, fixing Dan’s groin in silent shock.

 Dean swears he can hear the dramatic _dun dun dun_ of the moment behind his brain screaming _OH FUCK OH FUCK OH NO SHIT SHITUFKC_.

 He drops everything for the second time and swings around, almost tripping over and barely managing to escape that last humiliation by gripping to the desk table. His face is on fire, literally smoking with his skin probably peeling off, _hopefully_ peeling off and melting right to the ground because that would at least distract him from the situation he just fucked himself into.

"Fuck. _Fuck_."

 Dean leans over the table, turned away from his poor client, who’s still lying naked and exposed on the massage table.

 “I’m so sorry,” Dean finally manages to stutter, voice trembling from the insane thumping of his heart. “I’m really sorry, this is - I shouldn’t have - this was completely unprofessional of me, I- I deeply apologize, that was...”

 Dean has never been this ashamed and humiliated in his entire life. What kind of masseur can’t even control his own dick? And he knows he’s in deep, deep trouble. The guy could sue him, or beat him up, get his license revoked in the blink of an eye. Dean closes his eyes tightly and prays.

 “You should – you should really leave, man, sorry again, I-“

 There’s a small silence during which Dean prays with all of his soul that Cas will just walk out without a fuss. Instead he speaks very calmly, like he isn’t disturbed by this mess in the least.

 “How much do I owe you?”

 “What? No, it’s on me, dude, just –" Dean is still turned away from Castiel, anxiously waiting for him to get out. He  can't look at him, can’t even breathe, his knuckles white and hurting from his grip on the table, clinging for dear life. _Oh God please make this end right now_. "I’m really sorry. It’s not something that – I should’ve never touched you while… I’m really sorry.”

 It's completely silent behind him now, not a movement, not a breath, until Castiel speaks again.

 "Do you desire me?"

 Dean chokes. On air. Or on his own tongue. He lets out a strangled sound, his legs turned into wobbly sticks of gelatine, blood pounding against his temples.

 "Unless you were thinking about someone, or... something else," Castiel adds, and Dean could _swear_ that he hears disappointment in his tone. Like he _wanted_ Dean to desire him. Is he imagining things?

 It takes him a few seconds to make up an answer.

 “Look, I don’t know _why_  you do this to me, alright? I mean, I’m a masseur, I touch attractive people all the time, you just…”

 Dean sighs and shakes his head. He hears a rustle behind him, probably Castiel finally deciding to get dressed and get the Hell out.

 He feels a burning presence right behind him and a delicate hand places on his hip. Dean chokes again, and for the second time he lacks oxygen in his brain for several seconds.

 Castiel is standing right behind him, his moist breath on his neck, and when he looks down Dean realizes the drape is cradled around Castiel’s feet – and his own.

 The dude’s naked.

 Castiel is naked, zero clothes, dick on the loose, and he has a hand on Dean’s hip, and Dean’s wondering how the fuck he hasn’t passed out yet because he can’t remember the last time oxygen has reached his brain.

 Cas makes one more step and  brushes his lips on the crook of Dean’s neck, along with a small, satisfied sigh. Dean almost crumbles into a pile of ashes, and the small strangled sound he makes was probably not a product of his imagination.

 Very delicately, the hand on Dean’s hip slides down to his front, lower and lower, sending violent shivers up the root of his hair. Light fingers brush on the length of Dean’s erection, and Castiel presses himself tighter against his back, _humming_ in his ears, purring like a cat. Dean’s whole body bucks against him, knuckles whitening around the table.

 Neither of them say anything. Dean’s mind is blank except from a constant flow of _what the fuck what the actual fuck holy shitfuck on a cake fucking fuck me fucking hell hIS HAND IS ON MY DICK_.

 Castiel’s hand gets bolder, sliding past the waistband of Dean’s scrubs and curling around his shaft, gently stroking him through the fabric.

 “Is that okay?”

 Castiel’s low tone is very hesitant, surprising Dean out of his trance.

 “Ye-yeah."

 Dean has no idea how to react, no idea what to do. This is so completely unprecedented. He feels the last of his self control slipping away, hair rising on his arms when fingers sneak under the waistband of his boxers. _Fuck_ Castiel’s palm is so warm, so smooth, so freaking _good_ and Dean’s dick has been begging for contact since the moment the dude walked in. And now Dean’s toes are curling with every stroke of the palm on his cock, and he has to focus not to come just from the smell surrounding him and the kisses on his neck. Castiel’s plump lips feel exactly the way Dean dreamed they would, and he can taste blood between his own clenched teeth.

 Cas is slowly rocking his body against him now, groaning against Dean’s neck, hardness pressing on his ass. Dean can't refrain a needy moan when the hand suddenly slides out of his pants, but teeth graze along his neck, and Castiel grabs his waist and nudges him to turn around.

 Another toll to his stomach and Dean finds himself drowned in stupidly blue eyes. Castiel’s irises are like freaking oceans, like being underwater and seeing the sunshine coming through the surface and the light sparkling and... Dean’s never seen eyes this freaking _deep_ , and he feels dizzy, afraid to fall into the void. This guy just burned all of his brain cells. Dean can hear them popping between his ears with every second that passes of them just staring at each other.

 Thankfully Castiel seems determined for something to happen. He leans over, bringing his mouth so close that Dean can feel the burning breath against his lips. The masseur closes his eyes, unable to do anything but wait for the kiss. For the moment his whole life has prepared him for, as cheesy as it sounds. After what seems an eternity Castiel's hand tightens on his waist and Dean grips to Cas’ wrists, afraid he might fall over the minute their lips touch.

 It’s pretty much what happens.

 Kissing Castiel is like getting kicked in the crotch, except it's the exact opposite. Basically, it’s the best thing in the world. It's like eating cotton candy but softer, like diving into a fluff bed but  _better,_  and Dean's not sure if the sounds he makes are only in his head. He feels like they're both about to crumble down and he gets the urge to cup his palms around Cas' face to hold him up, because having to detach their lips for one second would be _way_ too much to handle.

 The other man's hands slide under Dean's shirts and wraps around his back, pressing their chests together, and Dean feels the pump, the energy of the erratic beating of both their hearts. This time it's Castiel who lets out a moan, nails digging into Dean's skin, and the scratch along his spine crackles inside of him like a spark. 

 From a first hesitant kiss they dive directly into desperate, open mouth tongues-sliding-all-over-the-place, with grabby hands and little moans stifled between their lips. The heat in the room has been turned up by a hundred degrees, and there’s not even a question left in Dean’s mind of where this is heading. He doesn’t need to ask Castiel or himself, this is ending only one way, with amazing mind blowing sex, immediately.

 Dean can’t recall  _how_ exactly he got rid of all his clothes, but he knows Castiel didn't have much to do with it. Apart from having made the first move Cas seems pretty okay with letting Dean take charge, so he lets him drag them to the massage table as their clothes fall onto the floor. Dean pushes Castiel up on it, holding up his thighs, wrapping them around his own waist as he finally gets his mouth on that neck.

 It’s a lifetime of fantasies that Dean holds between his hands - because let’s face it, this guy is basically _perfect_ , everything anyone could ever want, everything Dean has always wanted, and he wants him so, so much. It’s like time has stopped, and nothing else exists but this dark room, those scented candles, and that table where Castiel lays on once again, except that this time, Dean doesn’t need to control himself.

 This time, Dean gets to put his mouth on all the places he longed for, yearned for, burned to ashes for. He leans over and kisses a soft path along the offered body, starting at the crook of Castiel’s ear and down to his collarbone, the soft skin of his stomach, licking the little moles scattered around. He sucks a bruise on his hip, and Castiel bucks and lets out a surprised whimper. Dean bites on the soft flesh of Castiel’s thigh, rubs his nose in the pale hair of his ass. He gets to lick that one spot at the birth of Castiel’s butt, and gets to lay down on top of that man and drown himself in those infinite, well-diving-into-the-bottom-of-the-universe eyes. And Dean breathes, better than he’s ever breathed in his entire life.

 There's something both relaxing and exhilarating about kissing Castiel, about holding him and feeling his body in the half light of the candles. About biting on his neck, on his ears, on his lips, and extracting the most beautiful sounds out of him just by rubbing thumbs over his nipples. The man’s body is so reactive under him, shivering, bucking at every brush of his lips, every nip of his teeth, sensitive beyond reason, and Dean feels drunk, head spinning with desire.

 And those lips, those lips explore Dean’s skin as well, nose searching for the sensitive spots, behind his ear, on the muscle between his neck and shoulders. Castiel smiles when his thumbs curls on the tip of Dean’s dick, and he grabs him by the neck to pull him down for the most heated kiss Dean has ever been a part of.

 When Dean leans back, cupping Castiel’s face in his palm, the look rising from the blue irises almost brings him to tears.

 There's a tenderness, a fairness, and an innocence in those eyes that reminds Dean of a young child, except with the wisdom of a very old soul. Those eyes are ageless, and they’re looking up to him with actual affection, actual _care_ , and it’s really hard to handle, because the dude’s a freaking stranger, and they’re about to have sex, on Dean’s massage table, at work, and it’s all so freaking fucked up.

 "All those freckles…" Castiel murmurs, running his fingers down Dean's chest, blue oceans following the path religiously. "They look like stars. Like galaxies."

 Small wrinkles appear on the corners of Castiel’s eyes as they make their way up to Dean's face again, and Dean feels his heart tightening into a clutch. _No one_ looks at him like that. No one ever takes the time to talk to him like that... To notice things.

 "They remind me of the night sky in Alaska," Castiel continues. His smile could make angels fall, Dean suddenly thinks. "When you're so far in the wild that you can see billions of them. It's so beautiful. You are... very beautiful." 

 Dean doesn't breathe or talk, numb as Castiel run his hands on his thighs and sits up to gently kiss his neck, letting his palms run all over his dotted skin. Dean's very aware despite the dim light of the spark in those eyes, of the warm body around his thighs and just...  _Castiel_. He wants to say his name, but it sounds wrong, so he gently grabs Castiel’s face and brushes his nose on his cheeks, kissing his forehead, jaw and nose to finish on the lips. Those lips. 

 "Can I call you Cas?"

 Castiel hums and nods, and Dean takes that as a yes. He smiles, and allows himself to sink in the moment. He feels Castiel’s erection pushing against his, their warm bodies fitting into a perfect embrace as they kiss again. Dean floats on a cloud, pink soft cloud of lips with just a hint of tongue that delicately brushes on his mouth, daring with every breathe to taste him.

 Dean grips on to the thick hair, letting his weight rest against Castiel’s chest. He feels the dynamic between them, a curious one, Castiel seems hesitant - his brows remain frowned, he’s strangely careful, delicate, taking things slowly, his eyes constantly asking if it’s okay. If his hand sliding on Dean’s ass isn’t too forward, if the fingers slowly caressing around his hole are not too bold.

 Somehow, Dean knows exactly how to respond. It’s easy. His body language, his sounds, his breaths, Castiel reads them and responds. No words needed. A more fervent press of lips here, a low whine there, fingers cramping around a shoulder, and all is said. Castiel dares more, a second finger pushing inside of him. Dean moans more firmly, arching his back to push his cock against Castiel’s stomach. When he looks down, Castiel is staring at him with that same dark, hypnotic, fascinated gaze, like Dean is a wonder, and all of him is perfect.

 Dean slowly leans over, pushing Castiel under his weight. With his kiss and a small nudge, he leads Castiel to lay back on the table. Castiel’s hand slips out, it’s shaking slightly, his eyes wide and his mouth opened. Dean straddles Cas, one hand flat on Castiel’s chest, unable to resist rubbing a circle around Castiel’s left nipple. The man shudders under him, his dick twitching in Dean’s hand. Like he’s been put under a curse, Dean can’t detach his eyes from Castiel’s, not even when he guides his erection to rest against his ass. He pushes himself up onto his knees, breathes out. Then he leans over again, brushing his lips against Castiel’s as he slowly takes him in, one oiled inch at a time.

 Dean closes his eyes, head spinning at the familiar burn and stretch. Castiel lets out a small sound, hands cramping around his back, but he isn’t moving. He’s letting Dean have complete control, taking all the time he needs. He looks in complete bliss, actually, and when Dean bottoms out he realizes he’s never even seen a look like that on anyone’s face. If they were doing anything else, Dean would think Cas is hurt. His nails are digging in Dean’s back, his mouth open lets out ghostly breaths, and his eyes begging for something, he’s holding on to Dean for dear life. Dean tries to reassure him, delicate kisses on his face as he slowly starts grinding his hips.

 The waves of pleasure finally slowly start to work through Dean’s body, heat spreading through his limbs, and he pants against Castiel’s mouth.

 “You okay?” He breathes out as the man still isn’t moving.

 Castiel nods, whimpers, and his frown deepens. His voice is strained.

 “You?”

 Dean smiles, nods, brushes his thumb on Cas’ chubby cheek. He kisses him again, his erection rubbing tight between their stomachs, creating a mix of sensations that are nothing short to heavenly. Castiel’s cock is thick, perfect length, pushing in and out of him in the most beautiful bliss. And it’s even better when Castiel gains some confidence. He catches Dean’s gaze, grips tighter on his skin, and slowly pushes his hips up to meet with him. Dean whines, breath accelerating, and suddenly Cas responds, picking up a pace that hits right into Dean’s prostate.

 After a while, Cas gets up on his elbows and sits up, pushing Dean back and using his legs to move his hips under him. He quickly picks up Dean’s rhythm and Dean grabs on to his shoulders with loud grunts, feeling him so deep, brushing over and over against his prostate. They’re moving together, Cas fucking Dean from underneath, moaning and panting in each other’s mouths, and the table is squealing so loud it could break any second but neither of them care.

 Castiel’s teeth look for Dean’s mouth and then move down to suck on his neck, his free hand travelling from his hips to his chest to his shoulders and then down again. Dean throws his head back, losing it because now Cas is sucking on his nipples while fucking him and holding him and  _fuck_  it’s so, so good. Cas seems on the edge of coming already, whining and breathing heavily against Dean’s skin. But somehow he still stays completely focused on Dean, kissing and nipping on his skin with his hands running all over him. When teeth bite harshly on his neck, Dean's basically in Heaven.

 Castiel seems to gain even more confidence and suddenly he flips Dean over, his back on the table, and Dean can’t even phantom how they haven’t fallen off yet. But Cas is very much in shape and he’s holding him tightly, opening Dean's thighs to have all the access to fuck him into the table. The blue irises never leave Dean's eyes, and the intimacy it creates is something Dean has very rarely experienced.

 Dean’s sounds are way past the manly grunts now. It’s long whines and shameless cries of pleasure every time Cas thrusts back inside of him. He lets his hand run down and grabs Castiel’s  _perfect_  butt, inciting him to pound even harder, faster because this position is just so  _right_ and Dean can feel himself reaching for that place, that sweet forget-it-all-only-pleasure- _so-much-pleasure_ place.  A thousand things seem to be exchanged between their eyes and their mouths and they’re so perfectly in sync, sweaty smiles and wide stares as they both race for the moment together.

The incredible sensation boiling in the pit of Dean's stomach spreads throughout his body in waves of heat until it completely takes over. He doesn’t even need to jerk himself off. Castiel’s warm stomach rubbing against his cock is enough and Dean comes with a scream, legs and arms cramping around Cas, whose movements lose all rhythm. And then Castiel lets out the most beautiful sound and collapses on top on Dean, wet, sticky and sweaty, panting and pushing his last few thrusts deep inside of him.

 There isn’t much place on the small table and Castiel almost falls off, but Dean grabs him just in time and presses him back against his chest. Their lips meet again through the pink fog of the after-orgasm, and Castiel gently bites on Dean’s bottom lip, letting out an exhausted chuckled.

 Dean keeps his arms and legs wrapped around him, unable to refrain from burying his face in his fresh smelling hair. The room is filled by their two deep breaths and Castiel's strong marshmallow smell, and he tastes a little salty when Dean kisses his forehead.

 It takes a much longer time than usual for Dean to come back from the high of his orgasm, and then he automatically starts caressing Castiel’s skin with his fingers, feeling a wave of something strange – like fondness, or some kind of affection – and he turns to look at the face of the man he just had sex with, who seems like he’s just discovered Atlantis and the cure for cancer.

 “You okay?”

 Castiel nods, grins, and then he stands up on his elbows, hands gripping the table under Dean to avoid losing balance again.

 “Did I… Did I do it right?” he asks, almost anxiously.

 Dean brushes a hand on Cas’ face and chuckles. He could look at him forever, which is a weird thing to think about someone he literally just met. But he’s just so goddamn gorgeous.

 “Dude, that was... freaking amazing. I mean… was it good for you?”

 Castiel gives him his special dimples smile and then leans over again to lay gentle kisses on Dean’s neck. He seems to be a cuddler and well decided to stay here, tangled with Dean on the massage table. Dean doesn’t mind. At all. He realizes he doesn't get this kind of physical contact very often.

 “Yes, it was very good.” Castiel scoffs, snuggling in Dean’s neck.

 For some reason, Castiel’s body squirming against his, his face pressed in his neck, makes Dean feel all warm and bubbly inside. Cas runs a finger up and down his sides.

 “It was very,  _very_  good. But since I don’t have much experience in this… area, I wanted to make sure I did things… the right way.”

 Suddenly Dean is the one to sit up, sitting up straight as Cas slides off him. Dean stares at him.

 “You’re- are you a  _virgin_?”

 “Well… Not anymore.”

 Castiel stops smiling when he sees the shocked impression on Dean’s face.

 “Are you mad? I should’ve told you. I’m sorry.” He suddenly looks so defeated that Dean feels his heart sink. “I apologize. I didn’t think. I-“

 “Cas, it’s fine.” Dean slides one hand around his companion's waist and bring him close again.

 Castiel seems to relax as Dean kisses him. Damn, that marshmallow taste and smell is amazing. Feels like what Dean always thought Heaven would be like, cotton candy clouds and marshmallow rivers. Except with sex. It’s hard to let go. But there’s a more important matter at hands right now.

 “I just would’ve made it more special if I’d known, that’s all.” He mumbles against Cas’ lips. “I would’ve been, I dunno, more careful.”

 Cas shakes his head. “It was perfect.”

 “What’s a gorgeous guy like you doing being a virgin at your age anyway?”

 He’s seriously wondering – Castiel looks at least Dean’s age, which is thirty, and he’s really, really stunning. And sweet, and adorable, and... Dean has to mentally stop himself from dreamingly thinking about the dude.

 “I… I used to be a priest,” Castiel says very seriously, looking away from Dean. The ruffled hair is crazier than ever, sticking out in every direction. “I only recently left my congregation. This appointment was actually the first time I was really…  _touched_  by another human being in… almost my whole life, it seems. I guess I just… really needed it.”

 Castiel is blushing, avoiding Dean’s eyes and turning away even further. Dean leans over and places small kisses on his neck, thumb caressing circles on his stomach. He doesn’t want to smother him, and he’s never been good at expressing affection – not like he has much to give anyway. But this guy is different and for some reason he makes Dean all sappy and gooey inside, and well, romantic. Makes him do weird things like kiss his shoulders and whisper in his ears and want to look at him all the time. He didn’t even do that with Lisa, who he dated for over a year. It’s weird.

 He keeps nuzzling until Cas turns back to him and cuddles back in his arms.

 "But seriously, you first time? Ever? Having sex?" Dean can't help but ask. He kind of can't believe it. It seems impossible. Castiel frowns his bushy eyebrows.

 "Yes. Why would I lie?"

 "No, I mean, it's just... you were just... wow. I mean, if _this_ is how you fuck on your first time, how amazing are you gonna be with like, practice? I mean, I definitely wanna to be here for that."

 The words escaped him before Dean could even think about it, it was more a reflex than a reflection, and his heart stops when he realizes what he has just said. Castiel looks at him with wide eyes, and the striking irises are filled with so much hope Dean forgets to breathe.

 "Really?"

 "I mean-" He's about to correct himself, to say it's just an expression, when he realizes that actually, he really really does want to be there for that. "Yeah. I'd like that. I'd like that a lot. If you... if you want me."

 Pink lips stretch over white teeth as Cas gives him another one of his dazzling smiles.

 "Yes, I would like that too. You could... teach me a lot of things, I'm sure."

 Dean's heart flutters.

 "Well, maybe next time I can take you to dinner first, what d’you think?"

 Cas doesn't say anything, but the way he kisses Dean really leaves no place for interpretation about his answer.

 Dean’s about to lose himself in Castiel’s mouth again when the door of the office opens and the secretary walks in, followed by Mr Knope, a regular client who was scheduled – Dean casts a quick look at the clock – well, right now. Shit.

 The old man and the woman stare at the two naked, intertwined men in a shocked silence for a few seconds, and then both slowly step backward and turn around. The door closes behind them and Dean can hear the hasty tap of heels through the thin walls, and angry mumbles about “gross indecency” and “homosexual pornography”.

 “Well, I guess I just lost a client” Dean chuckles.

 It just means that they have one more hour in a dark room filled with candles, to do whatever they want. Dean's got a lot of ideas.

 


End file.
